


Chocolate Kisses

by lady_needless_litany



Category: Little Women (2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Covid-19 Related, Domestic Fluff, Don't Post To Another Site, F/M, Fluff, Getting Together, Mild Language, Pandemic - Freeform, a bit OOC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:49:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23372707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lady_needless_litany/pseuds/lady_needless_litany
Summary: If Jo had to be shut in her house for the foreseeable future, at least she had Laurie to keep her company.
Relationships: Theodore Laurence/Josephine March
Comments: 17
Kudos: 120
Collections: Lock Down Fest





	1. Chapter 1

One of the fundamental curses of human nature, Jo thought, was that humans always wanted to do exactly the opposite of what they were told.

Shopping, for instance. She hated shopping. She had despised it since she was six or seven: groceries, clothes, anything. Unless it was stationary or books, she'd rather order it online and never see the inside of a shop. Now, though, the shops were officially off-limits except for essentials, and she could suddenly think of a dozen things she was itching to buy. A new pair of jeans, for example, since the pair that she was currently wearing was more than a little battered and patched. 

As Jo descended the stairs, the sound of voices startled her out of her pondering. Her mother was on the phone, she realised; Marmee had a habit of taking her calls on speakerphone.  _ It feels more real,  _ she'd once explained.  _ And I have nothing to hide from my family _ .

The voice on the other end was distorted, but still recognisable as that of their neighbour, James Laurence, who was abroad in Europe. "This is my grandson that we're talking about, Margaret. He might be an adult now, but I don't trust him in that house on his own. Even if he didn't burn the place down, he'd starve."

Marmee released a small, good-natured laugh. "That seems a little harsh. But yes, he's more than welcome here."

"Thank you, I do appreciate it."

"It's nothing, honestly."

The conversation continued back-and-forth for a few more minutes, an exchange of pleasantries and trivialities.

When Marmee finally hung up, she turned around and was met by Jo's quizzical look. "Laurie's coming to stay," she provided, without prompting.

That much, Jo had gathered from the conversation. "Is that a good idea?" she queried. "Beth's health…"

"She's at risk, I won't deny it. But we can't close our home to Laurie. Besides, I'm told he's not been in contact with anyone that's ill."

She frowned. "Still."

"Think of it this way," Marmee said. "At least you'll have someone to keep you company, once you're tired of the rest of us."

* * *

In truth, Jo had to admit that she was glad Laurie was coming. In relation to Beth, it worried her — to be honest, so did most things, in the middle of a pandemic — but she was looking forward to seeing him. With Laurie at some year-long internship in San Francisco and Jo trying to make her way as a writer in New York, they'd had little opportunity to talk in recent months.

When the doorbell rang, a day and a half after the phone call, Jo raced to the door.

She flung the door open and he was there, suitcase behind him. "Teddy!"

They practically crashed into each other, embracing. And if both of them held on for slightly too long, neither of them mentioned it.

"It's so good to see you," he said as they extricated themselves. "It's been ages since we last spoke properly."

She hummed in agreement, moving to pick up his case and ushering him into the house. "Since I've managed to get them to understand video-calls, Marmee and Father are calling Amy," she warned. "So you'd better come through to the kitchen."

"Never thought I'd see the day when the March household caught up with modern tech," he teased, as he followed her to the kitchen.

She rolled her eyes. "Me neither. But here we are."

“Amy’s still in Paris, then?”

“Mm-hm. With Aunt March. I guess they won’t be getting back any time soon, either.”

They chatted, nineteen to the dozen, for a quarter of an hour, until the faint sounds of Marmee and Father’s call with Amy tailed off.

Marmee entered the kitchen a few moments later, already smiling. “Laurie, it’s good to see you. I’m glad you’re not going to be stuck in that house by yourself.”

“Me too, honestly. Thank you for letting me stay.”

Marmee waved his words away. "By the way, Amy sends her love," she added, turning to Jo.

Jo snorted. "I doubt it."

Shaking her head, Marmee said, "You know, I always thought that you two would grow out of this rivalry, at some point."

"We have!" Jo exclaimed.

Laurie couldn't help a grin. "Sure, you have."

"Well, for the most part," she muttered, seeing his and Marmee's knowing eyes.

"Anyway," Laurie said. "How's Meg faring?"

Marmee sighed. "Well, being trapped in a house with two small children isn't great, but they're fine. They have plenty of outdoor space, at least. And I'm just grateful that all of them — and all of us — are fit and healthy."

_ Except for Beth _ . It was a painful caveat, one which went unspoken, but not unnoticed. It brought with it a sense of stress and preoccupation that soured the air, even though it came from a place of love.

"Now," Marmee said, changing the subject. "Will you be alright in Jo and Amy's room? I can set up the guest room, but it's full of clutter-"

"That's perfect," he replied, quick to reassure her. "Besides, you're already accommodating me. I don't want to get in your way even more."

"Laurie, dear, you can't possibly be more demanding that my daughters, when they're all in the same room. Trust me, I know all of you well enough to say that with certainty.

It was a conscious effort not to preen. "I'm sure we gave you sleepless nights when we were younger."

"You did, all of you. That's parenting for you." She smiled faintly at the memories. "Now, I'm going to see the Hummels later. Well, not see them, since that would be irresponsible, but give them some food. Can you help me carry things?"

Jo and Laurie nodded in unison. They'd known the Hummels — distantly — since they were kids; they were hardworking and genuinely kind people, but life had thrown them one curveball after another. With the chaos of a pandemic, they'd be lucky if they had food on the table or a cent in their pockets.

They headed out at about five o’clock, with a fine drizzle of rain accompanying them. Between them, they were carrying four or five bags of food and toiletries, enough to last a family for a week or two. Enough to make a difference.

Mrs Hummel, probably sensibly, spoke to them through a window, rather than inviting them in.

"I hope you don't mind," Marmee said to her, with an apologetic look. "I went a bit crazy at the store, bought way more than we can eat. It's mostly fresh, so it won't keep… I was hoping that you would take it."

Jo would forever marvel at the way that her mother could speak to people, the way she could set them at ease and never make them feel embarrassed or patronised.

Mrs Hummel nodded, gesturing for them to leave the bags on the doorstep. “Husband’s got an awful cough,” she explained. “I don’t want to risk spreading anything to you.”

Marmee’s face turned concerned. “Is there anything we can help you with?”

“No, no. I can’t thank you enough for this, either. I’ve been so worried that I won’t be able to get to the shops.” Mrs Hummel glanced at Jo and Laurie, who were standing some way behind Marmee. “I see your birds have returned to the nest.”

“For now, yes. I’m enjoying having them home while I can, although I might be cursing them by next week.”

Jo gently bumped Laurie with her shoulder. “I’m happy we’re both here, too.”


	2. Chapter 2

In a matter of days, they'd fallen into a comfortable routine. The rest of the household would wake up about half an hour before Jo, congregate in the kitchen, and start putting together breakfast. By the time the food was ready, Jo would be dressed and walking in. Afterwards, Jo would go up to her attic to write, Beth would go to her piano, Marmee and Father would sit in the living room, and Laurie would retreat to a quiet corner to read. Come mid-afternoon, when they’d both grown bored and restless, Laurie would appear in her attic and they’d play cards or watch TV or talk until dinner. 

Their dynamic had changed since they’d last spent any real time together; they were as teasing as ever, but Laurie found that he was appreciating their closeness more than he ever had. So, one day, when she wasn’t there, it grated.

It didn’t take long to find her, at least.

Jo didn't look up as he entered, which was enough to tell him that something was wrong.

She was perched on the edge of her bed, earphones trailing from one ear. She was pale and drawn, lacking the mischievous smile that she had worn so frequently as a child. Caught between her teeth, her lower lip was turning red and chapped. In her hands, she cradled her phone, and she was intensely focused on the programme she was watching.

He couldn't hear what the news presenter was saying, but he didn't need to: the scrolling text along the bottom of the screen told him enough.  _ COVID-19 _ , it screamed.  _ More and more cases, deaths spiralling worldwide— _

Almost without thinking, he reached out and pried the phone from her hands. He unhooked the earphone from her ear, too, and placed both on her bedside table. In response, she shuffled along the bed, making space for him. He took it, and they sat side-by-side; he could feel her warmth radiating across his left side.

"Jo, it's going to be okay," he said, attempting to inject some lightness into his tone. It felt false, even to his own ears.

She shook her head. "We don't know that."

"No, we don't," he acknowledged, backpedalling as gently as he could. "But we're taking all of the precautions that we can."

"I know," she sighed. "It's not just Beth that I'm worried about. I just — I just feel so out of control."

"You're not the only one. It's a shit feeling."

"It's worse than shit. It's fucking terrible. The only time I've felt worse was when Beth got scarlet fever." 

The sheer force in her voice surprised them both — Jo fell in tempers, yes, and shouted and raged, but rarely with such bitterness. Or with such language. Growing up, Marmee had had strict rules about cursing; Jo and Amy had flouted them frequently as teenagers, as their own small form of adolescent rebellion, but it had never become a habit.

Still, Laurie had to concur. "It  _ is  _ fucking terrible.

She fell silent. He didn't push her, well aware that she wouldn't want to talk about it: despite her calling as a writer, Jo tended to bottle up her deeper emotions, rather than talk about them. She'd let her joy or her anger flow unbridled, but love and worry and hope were things she tended to be more reserved about.

"It's Marmee's birthday tomorrow," she said suddenly. "We should do something."

He nodded. "I'd completely forgotten, but you're right."

* * *

That was how it began, plotting like they had when they were children. By the next day, early evening, they were in the kitchen, leaning against the counter as they pored over every single one of Marmee's cookery books.

"Dammit," Jo sighed, for the fiftieth time in half an hour. "We don't have the ingredients for that, either."

Laurie ran a hand through his hair. "Maybe we should stick to something simple. Pasta or something."

Jo paused, thinking. "Pasta's a good idea. They both like pasta."

'They' were Marmee and Father, the unexpected recipients of the meal that Laurie and Jo had decided to put together. "We can cook something, and decorate the dining table, and I can play the piano while they eat!" Beth had enthused when they'd told her. "She'll love it."

Whether or not that was fully true remained to be seen — somewhat bemused by the whole affair, Marmee and Father were upstairs, instructed not to come down until seven. In an unusual spurt of energy, Beth was busily unearthing candles and place-mats from one of the house's many cupboards, in an attempt to turn the dining room into something resembling a nice restaurant. That left Jo and Laurie in the kitchen,a natural habitat for neither of them. They weren't floundering, per se, but having to adapt to a limited number of ingredients was proving more challenging that they'd anticipated.

"So," Laurie said slowly, leafing through a book. "What about this?"

He read the recipe aloud to her — it seemed straightforward, with chicken and lemon and a handful of herbs and seasoning.

She nodded. "I think we can manage that."

Seven o'clock rolled around far quicker than either of them had expected, but Marmee and Father arrived on the dot (although not dressed to go out, as Jo had secretly hoped), and dinner was served not two minutes later.

No sooner had Jo entered the kitchen, though, than Laurie said, "We should have made dessert."

Her eyes widened, almost comically. "I can’t believe I forgot about that!"

"Me neither." He grimaced disappointed. "Nothing we can do now."

"Wait. What about one of those mug cakes that everyone's making and posting online?"

He quirked an eyebrow. "Josephine March, you're a genius."

It was a matter of twenty seconds of Internet searches and skim-reading before Jo was shuttling from cupboard to cupboard, pulling out boxes and bags and bottles of flour and cocoa and syrup. Laurie was no slouch, either, measuring the ingredients as quickly as she delivered them. From there, it was simple: mix them together, shove them in the microwave, one by one.

Minutes later, as the microwave pinged for the second time, Laurie peered at the two finished products, a little sceptical. "They're not pretty," he decided, as he deposited them onto a pair of plates. "But they'll do."

Jo had to concur. They were a bit bumpy and uneven, but the smell of chocolate was heavenly.

"Fingers crossed." She scooped up the plates, making her way out of the kitchen.

He guessed that she must have sat with them for a little while, because she didn't return straight away. In the meantime, he busied himself with replicating the recipe - Jo had looked at the mugs with no shortage of envy and he couldn't deny that they smelt wonderful, and there was no reason to deny themselves. It was somewhat calmer that time around, with no bags of flour being thrown halfway across the kitchen, which was, in Laurie's eyes, a distinct improvement.

He took at least twice as long to do it, that time around, meaning that he was just about done when Jo reappeared.

"And? Were they a success?"

"Well, Marmee seemed to like it," she said, satisfied.

"Good, because I whipped up two extra ones for us."

Jo broke into a smile. "You're useful for something, Teddy."

The microwave pinged and, with a reminder about heat and burns, he deposited the mug in front of her. Without a second's hesitation, they tucked into their cakes.

Jo made an appreciative noise. "Considering these are made in about three minutes, they're damn good."

"You're welcome."

Much to her dentist's eternal despair, Jo had always had a sweet tooth. Accordingly, she devoured the cake in front of her, making an attempt to steal a few bites of Laurie's, too, until he waved his fork at her and made a vague stabbing motion. Aside from that, they said very little, instead relaxing into a comfortable silence.

As he swallowed his last mouthful, he nodded approvingly. "That's not half bad, even if I do say so myself."

"It wasn't," she agreed. Then she looked around, sighing. "But now we have to clean up."

Following her gaze, Laurie had to admit that she had a point. The place was chaos incarnate, random utensils and ingredient packaging everywhere. It would probably give a chef nightmares; there was certainly no way that Marmee could see it without going ballistic. Without doubt, it was going to be a good forty minutes of work to get it back to the neat, spotless condition that it was usually kept in.

So, with minimal complaining, they got to work. Jo, being more familiar with the cupboards, carefully repacked everything that needed to be used again and put them back in their place, while Laurie followed behind her with kitchen towel and cleaning spray.

Dishes were the last thing on the agenda. It wasn't so bad, Laurie reasoned, since they'd only served two full meals. It was just the volume of pots and pans that they'd managed to use that made it laborious. Here, they again followed their divide-and-conquer strategy. They were standing hip-to-hip at the sink, Jo up to her elbows in soapy water, Laurie armed with a drying cloth and a prayer that the things he was stacking in the cupboard over the sink wouldn't fall over.

"Look at us," she remarked, not without a touch of good humour. "All those years as kids, doing anything to get out of doing our chores. Now we're  _ voluntarily _ washing dishes. How disgracefully domestic and grown-up."

"Well, you're the best dish-washing partner I could hope for, Jo," he replied; it was an off-hand comment - and a doltish one, really - but she couldn't help revelling in the adoring smile that accompanied it. It was a different smile, not the impish one that he usually threw her way. It was softer, warmer. In an odd way, and quite unexpectedly, it made her stomach flutter.

It was enough to make her pause and turn to him.

One hand, still covered in soap and water, fell on his arm, while the other went to his cheek. It was a little awkward, at first, but she remained stubbornly undeterred. They were, thankfully, around the same height; she didn't have to reach up to reach him. Their gazes met, both unsure; there was a look of surprise in his eyes that she hadn't anticipated. She leaned in, hoping that she'd read his body language correctly, that he was interested in the same way that she was. And she kissed him. She kissed him, and he tasted like chocolate and sweetness.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Final chapter! Literally just tooth-rottingly sweet fluff.

Laurie’s first impression was warmth. Not the exhausting, oppressive heat of long summer days, or the aggressive heat of a bonfire. A gentle warmth, just the right side of _too_ warm. The kind that came from being bathed in mid-morning sunlight and being wrapped in soft blankets.

Gradually, he tuned into his surroundings, waking up fully. He was in Jo's bed, rather than in the one he had been using — they'd started off in separate beds, he remembered, but he'd sighed and made doe eyes and generally been dramatic until Jo had (not unhappily) caved and told him to move. A single bed didn't permit much space between them: although Jo was on the other side of the mattress, one of his hands had gone half-numb from being wedged under her arm. Just looking at her caused affection to swell in his chest, making him want to pull her closer. He didn't, though. Jo wasn't a fan of being awoken before she was ready.

With his free hand, he glanced at his watch; it wasn't _late_ late, but it was certainly late for him, seeing as he was usually up and dressed by seven. Of the two of them, Jo was the one who preferred to sleep in, though she usually battled her inner nature and dragged herself out of bed not so long after him. 

As if she had read his mind, he sensed a change in breathing and a slight stirring told him that Jo was waking up; his movement must have disturbed her sleep. 

He kept his voice low and quiet. "Jo, it's ten-thirty and we're still in bed."

She opened her eyes, for a moment, and regarded him sleepily. Then she closed them again, murmuring, "Theodore Laurence, you're a disgrace."

"I know. I blame you."

“It’s not like we’ve got anywhere to go.”

Laurie had to laugh at that. “You’re not wrong,” he admitted. They were, apart from essential errands, marooned in the house.

Without words, Jo rolled closer and he shifted his arm to accommodate her. Her movements were sleep-heavy and slow, like treacle. She laid her cheek against his chest, enjoying the softness of his hoodie against her skin. (Not that she would ever admit that, of course, since she'd ridiculed him for wearing one to bed ever since he'd arrived. "I get cold easily!" had been his defence, but she hadn't been convinced at the time.)

They had a few minutes of pure, unadulterated calm, where the only movement was their unified breathing and the only sound was a pair of squabbling birds outside the window. It was nearly enough to lull them both back to sleep.

Then Laurie’s phone vibrated and beeped loudly. Mourning the shattered peace, he reached for his phone. It was nothing vitally important — just an old college friend checking up on him — so he returned it to the bedside table.

As he did so, he caught a glimpse of his reflection on his phone’s screen. “God, my hair’s a mess.”

Repositioning herself slightly, Jo craned her neck to look up at him. “Luckily, I don’t like you for your hair.”

“How fortunate I am, then.” He leaned down, at a horrendously awkward angle, in an attempt to reach her lips. Tucking her chin in, she evaded him, and he almost ended up with a mouthful of hair instead.

"Don't kiss me before you've brushed your teeth," she complained. "We're not at that point yet."

_Yet._ The word's tantalising implications were not lost on him.

He didn't dwell on them, though, because he couldn't contain the laugh that bubbled within him, provoked by Jo’s feigned petulance. "Yes, m'lady," he teased, entwining their fingers and bringing her hand to his lips instead.

She snorted, fondly. "Sap."

"Now, as much as I'd love to stay here forever," he said, with no shortage of reluctance. "The longer we stay here, the more we're going to have to explain to your parents."

At that thought, Jo screwed her face up. "You're right. I hate it, but you're right."

"Come on," he said, gently extricating himself from the tangle of pillows and duvets. And Jo, of course, who was extremely loath to release him.

They'd have to talk, later, to make sure that they were both on the same page. In the meantime, though, he was more than content to watch Jo stretch and groan and unwillingly climb out of bed, and to wonder if, somehow, he’d always loved her.

**Author's Note:**

> Am I proud of this? Not really, but I wanted to a) break my writer's block and b) write something coronavirus-related (idk, it was an urge), and this accomplished both of those things.


End file.
